


Don't Smoke Dorito Blunts

by sighmonk



Category: Be More Chill
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Boyfriends, Brief Heathers Mention, Gen, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Support, Trans Michael Mell, bit of angst, richjake, the bitch gone, the squip ain't coming back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighmonk/pseuds/sighmonk
Summary: Just some weed-related drabbles involving the Be More Chill characters.





	1. Dorito Blunts are a Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boyf riends tend to smoke a bit too much anyways, but... doritos? Really, Michael?

"This is fucking ridiculous."

Michael let out a chuckle. "Shut up, Jeremy. I just want to try it."

"You're not even going to get anything out of it!" Jeremy shouted, exasperated as he fell back against one of the bean-bag chairs in Michael's basement. Both of his hands rested over his acne-covered face, shielding his best friend's actions from his view. "Why the fuck would you even want to smoke a Dorito blunt?!"

If he was being honest, Jeremy usually found Michael's actions hilarious, especially those relating to his weed-smoking habit. But, at this point, at three in the morning after they were both stoned out of their minds on the first day of spring break, Jeremy was just confused. Michael had decided to smoke a blunt with Doritos instead of weed, which annoyed him for two reasons:

1) Michael was going to do _something_ to hurt himself, and they were both too high to help, and,

2) Michael was wasting thE FUCKING DORITOS.

To Jeremy's exasperation, Michael let out a more genuine laugh - more guttural and rough due to his heightened state. He leaned over to Jeremy from his own bean-bag, giving a playful punch to his shoulder. "I just want to see what will happen. Besides, it combines my two favourite things: weed and Doritos," he said, leaning back to continue crushing up the extra spicy flavoured chips.

The taller of the two let out a pout, hunching forward to rest his arms on his knees. "Gee, thanks, Michael," he mumbled. "Glad to know I'm not one of my boyfriend's favourite things."

"Oh come on," Michael said, not looking up as he poured a delicate pile of ground Doritos onto a sliver of rolling paper. "I said my favourite things. You're my favourite _person_ , Jer, even if you let a supercomputer block me out of your life for weeks."

Jeremy let out a whine. "How many times do I have to apologize for you to stop bringing that up?"

The Squip was still an incredibly sore subject, even if the whole school had been Squip-free for almost three months. The effects were still obvious to anyone who knew what happened: Rich was still healing from the burns that covered half his body, Jake's legs had become permanently crippled, and Jeremy still woke in the middle of the night, nightmares clouding his mind and tears streaming down his face as he tried to ground himself.

Luckily, Michael was just a phone call away when things got really bad, and he was actually incredibly good at comforting his boyfriend. It made since to Michael: they were best friends who comforted each other throughout twelve years of friendship, and this was no different. That didn't stop the shorter boy from teasing him about it, however, as he was still bitter about the whole indecent, no matter how many times he and Jeremy tried to talk it out. He had a reason to be mad, after all.

"You know I'm kidding, Jer," Michael said, flashing a sympathetic smile to his friend. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Rubbing his eyes, Jeremy sat up, adjusting Michael's classic red hoodie as he pulled the lighter out of the pocket. "Do you have any of your not-god-forsaken blunts left?"

Michael let out another chuckle. "Don't you dare insult my Dorito blunt in my good Christian Minecraft server," he laughed, reaching behind his bean-bag and grabbing a half-smoked blunt. He tossed it at Jeremy, who missed the catch and instead let the flying herb-projectile hit him in the face. "Nice catch."

"Fuck off," Jeremy whined, bringing the blunt to his lips and lighting the end. With a huff, it was lit, and the sweet smoke began to seep into his mouth as Jeremy leaned back on the bean-bag. Holding the smoke in his lungs, the taller boy tried to count the seconds that he held it in there, only for the burning substance to drift out of his nose slowly as Jeremy heard his boyfriend's words.

"What is it?" Jeremy said as the last of the smoke left his mouth, opening his eyes slowly to see his boyfriend staring at him.

"I need the lighter," Michael answered, holding up something in his left hand. It looked like a normal blunt: rolling paper twisted at the ends and a thicker bundle in the middle - the only difference was the colour. Instead of the normal olive green that would typically be seen through the opaque paper, there was an orange tint in its place. "The great Dorito blunt is ready."

It took Jeremy a second to respond, as he was utterly amazed that Michael was even able to make it... and the fact that the haze of highness was starting to come back with a vengeance. Shaking his head, Jeremy slowly reached out his hand, dropping the lighter into Michael's.

"Thanks," Michael mused, bringing the blunt to his lips and holding it there as he flashed a smile to Jeremy.

Flicking on the lighter, Michael raised the flame to the hastily-made mistake, lighting the end and inhaling to set the blunt alight. And that's when it happened: as Michael inhaled, the blunt lit up like a Christmas tree, engulfing in flames almost instantly. Michael let out a screech as the flames licked at his tongue, jumping up off his bean-bag as the embers fell onto his shirt and wiping them off with urgency.

It only took seconds, but that was enough to send Jeremy into a fit of laughter.

"Why the fuck did the Doritos catch on fire?!" Michael screeched, ripping off Jeremy's slightly-singed shirt, leaving him only in his binder. Wiping off the fabric, he hurried over to Jeremy, who was currently dying of laughter on the floor. "Haha, come on, Jer. I need my hoodie."

"Oh my fucking god," Jeremy breathed, sitting up on his side with Michael's help. He pulled his boyfriend's hoodie over his head and gave it to the smaller boy, only to continue laughing once it was off. "I could have told you that would happen, but oh my god, that was fucking hilarious."

Michael let out a snort. He was putting on a pout, but it was clear that he was actually incredibly amused. A smile broke out on his lips as he leaned onto Jeremy, pushing them both against the bean-bag. Wrapping his arms around Jeremy's waist, he looked up at his boyfriend, sticking out his tongue.

"How'd you know it would happen?" he said, cocking his eyebrows.

Jeremy smiled, resting his hands on either side of Michael's face. "Vegetable oil is flammable... and Doritos are made with vegetable oil." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Michael's nose. "Your freaking out was cute, though."

Letting out a chuckle, Michael pressed himself forward, brushing his lips against Jeremy's. "You're affectionate right now. Still high?"

"Don't act like you're not," Jeremy mused, closing the gap and kissing Michael again, on the lips this time, though. "Also, you taste like burnt Doritos. Go brush your teeth."

Feigning annoyance, Michael shook his head, burying his face in Jeremy's shirt. "Don't wanna," he whined.

Jeremy simply smiled, letting his head fall back against the bean-bag as Michael got comfortable, resting one of his hands on the dark mop of hair that now fell onto Jeremy's chest. Running his hand through Michael's dark tresses, Jeremy let out a contented sigh, both the weed and the happiness of the situation hitting him at once.

With Michael in his arms, he couldn't be happier, even if his dumbass of a boyfriend literally tried to smoke a blunt made of fucking Doritos.

"You wanna sleep like this?" Jeremy whispered, sweeping Michael's hair back from his forehead.

Michael nodded slowly. "I'm too tired to move. Good night, Jer."

"Good night, Michael."

In the morning, Jeremy would take pictures of the blunt and send them to the rest of their friends, and Michael would never be able to live down the time he smoked a Dorito blunt. But, as a stoner, it was also something he was oddly proud of.

There were a lot of other strange weed stories when it came to Michael anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there guys! I plan to update this at least once a week, though I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to be. If you have any suggestions for what I should write for the next/any chapter, comment down below, and I may write it. Tbh I love feedback, and suggestions are always great.
> 
> Also, DO NOT try to smoke a Dorito blunt. This story was written somewhat from personal experience, so as a word of advice... don't do it..


	2. 2 a.m. Weed Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is in pain and needs some weed. Luckily, Rich only lives ten minutes away.

Even when Rich had the SQUIP in his system, he was always asleep by midnight.

Sure, he may have been a small guy who partied way too hard, but his little body was always in bed by midnight... or asleep on Jake's couch or whatever couch that week's party was being thrown at.

The point was he went to bed early. And that didn't change after the SQUIP got out of him.

And most people knew better to disturb Rich's beauty sleep, aside from a certain Michael Mell. And Rich knew that was exactly who it was when his phone started blowing up at two in the morning on a random Monday night during spring break. Ruffling the hair out of his eyes, Rich let out a groan as he pulled the phone closer to him, using only one eye to see as the brightness temporarily blinded him.

_**headphones kid:** RICH _

_**headphones kid:** hey buddy i know it's late but _

_**headphones kid:** it's been a really bad night _

_**headphones kid:** you know _

_**headphones kid:** i need some weed _

Scrolling down a little further, he saw a text from Jeremy.

_**big-ass tree:** Hey Rich, please help Michael out. I'm in Israel for a few more days and can't help him, but I know he trusts you. Bring him a cherry slushie from 7/11. Trust me, he'll want one right now. _

Confusion flooded through Rich's mind as he read Jeremy's text. He shrugged it off, not wanting to think too hard already this morning. He was used to getting texts like that from Michael, however: he was Michael's dealer both while he had the SQUIP and after. It just made things better that they were friends now, and Rich wasn't a complete and total asshole towards him.

He shuddered slightly as he remembered.

Rich pulled his phone closer as he shrugged off his covers, moving into a sitting position. He sent a quick text to Jeremy, then another to Michael.

_**Me:** sure thing, heere_

_**Me:** be right there, michael. dont worry about paying. _

He got a text not even a second later.

_**headphones kid:** HELL YEAH _

Rich let out a chuckle as he set his phone down, quickly pulling on a shirt that was probably Jake's and a pair of vans before leaving the house, phone and weed tucked neatly in his back pocket. Good thing his dad was never home anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

Not fifteen minutes later, Rich was walking up to the Mell's house, a slushie clutched firmly in his hands. He let out a breath, but before he could even knock, the door swung open and he was instantly pulled inside before the door was shut and locked again.

Blinking in surprise, Rich looked up to see Michael peering down at him, a goofy looking grin on his face. "Sorry!" he whispered. "Gotta be quick so my mom doesn't hear."

Rich nodded slowly, though he didn't exactly know what that was like. "I brought the stuff. Oh! And Jeremy said you'd like one of these." He gestured to the slushie before handing it over to Michael, whose face absolutely lit up.

"Ah, thanks Rich!" he chirped, only to go silent a moment later as he heard his mother let out a groan. He moved his finger over his mouth in case Rich was going to say anything before he headed back towards his basement: a place Rich had been to several times. He was occasionally jealous that Michael got to have such a secluded room to himself, but it was nothing more than a fleeting thought. And by the time he sat down on the sofa lining the opposite wall of the room from where Michael's bed was, it meant nothing.

"I thought your mom woke up for a minute there," Rich said, lazily leaning back on the mountain of pillows stacked on the old couch.

Michael nodded, opting to throw himself onto one of the bean-bags that he and Jeremy usually occupied. "She's a light sleeper. But, whatever, ya know? Thanks for the slushie, again. Seriously though."

"Nah man, it was no problem." He paused for a moment, then continued. "I mean, some guy was crying in the back of the 7/11 over a slushie he dropped, but I think he was fine?"

A glazed look overcame Michael's eyes, and he let out a sigh. "JD," he mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his cherry slushie as he said the word. Shaking his head, he turned back to the shorter boy. "You said you have my weed, right?"

A snort escaped Rich's mouth. "Technically, it's my weed, but yes, I have it," he joked, taking it out of his back pocket and dangling it in the little baggie it was placed in. "I just have one question that I want you to answer before I give it to you."

"No, Rich, I still won't date you," Michael teased, a smile rising on his face.

"First of all, ouch, Mell," Rich deadpanned, not even blinking as he just stared at the hooded boy. "Second of all, this is a little more serious, so don't mess around." He paused for a moment as he saw Michael smile. "And stop laughing at my lisp!"

Michael jumped up, forgetting his slushie on the ground as he jumped onto the couch nest to Rich, rubbing his mostly-bare arm gently. "Hey, I wasn't laughing at your lisp, Rich," Michael whispered, his voice soft. He made an attempt to smile politely, his eyebrows knitting in genuine concern as he backed up a little bit. "It just makes me smile knowing that you care enough to actually tell me to stop messing around when you're usually the one cracking jokes and making innuendos."

Rich book a breath, bringing his hands to his face as he calmed himself. "Sorry, sorry," he said, running his hands down his face. "I guess I'm just extra sensitive today."

"Dude, don't worry about it," the hooded boy said, snatching the baggie of weed from Rich without a second's warning. Before Rich could reach out for it, though, Michael raised his hands in defeat, pulling out a box of zig-zag with his free hand. "Let me just get us a blunt to share for the serious talk. It seems like we both really need it."

He thought it over for a minute, but Rich eventually nodded and Michael got to work, wasting no time in making a blunt that only had about a gram of weed in it. Pulling a lighter from his hoodie pocket, Michael was the first to take a hit, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the two of them with the flick of the lighter and the exhaling sound the taller of the two made. Handing the blunt and the lighter over to Rich, he did the same.

"So," Rich said, exhaling the smoke that had filled his lungs at the same time he spoke. "Can I ask my question now."

Michael nodded, turning to rest his head on Rich's thigh. He motioned for Rich to stick the blunt in his mouth and light it, which he did. Inhaling sharply, Michael let the sweetness fill his lungs, where he held it in there until Rich began to speak again. "Why is this a bad night?" Rich asked, watching the boy beneath him cautiously - watching if he said anything wrong. He and Jeremy were touchy ones, after all.

Michael raised his eyebrows, an amused smile plastering itself on his face. "I'm having my period."

"Oh my god, shut up," Rich laughed, shoving Michael off of him with a playful push.

Michael rolled onto the pillows at the other end of the couch, a playful giggle escaping his lips. Reaching over, he plucked the lighter out of Rich's hand, his smile only growing bigger as he raised it to the blunt held firmly between his lips. "I'm not kidding, you know," he said, lighting the blunt again.

Rich cocked his head to the side, watching Michael closely. "What do you mean?"

As Michael exhaled, he raised his eyes to meet Rich's confused expression, only to burst into laughter. Well, it was good to know that the weed was starting to work, at least. Settling himself down, the taller of the two laid a hand on Rich's burned arm, a look of genuine amusement shining through every feature. "Rich, did you seriously not know I'm trans?"

There wasn't one ounce of shame in his voice, no trying to beat around the bush, nothing. Just Michael Mell, as confident in himself as he always was.

Rich took a moment to process the words, shaking his head slowly. "No. I had no idea. Shit man, and I used to call you a girl-"

"Rich," Michael said, raising a hand to cut him off. His smile was still there. "Rich, you were under that tictac's control. You had no way of knowing." He handed the blunt to Rich, who gladly accepted it. "You're a great friend who would never say that to me, though."

"Yeah," Rich said, smiling gently. He turned to take another hit of the blunt, leaning back on the couch. "So it helps for... period pain?"

Michael nodded. "Well, all kind of pain, actually. That's kind of why I was begging for it before you came over, though."

Letting out a huff, Rich turned to Michael, eyebrows raised and a smirk lining his face. "You asshole... you always text me after midnight, regardless of whether it's for weed or not."

"That's when I'm the most awake!" the taller of the two said, jumping to his feet. He grabbed his slushie before walking across the room. Apparently he had grabbed the rest of the baggie from Rich at some point, because he was tucking it neatly into his nightstand. "But I'm really tired right now, so I'm going to bed. You staying here or do I need to sneak you out?"

Rich stayed on the couch, not bothering to open his eyes as he made himself more comfortable, pulling one of the blankets strewn across the crouch over his small form. "You're making me pancakes in the morning, Mell," he said, his voice more slurred than usual.

Michael smiled as he turned off the lights, letting out a contented sigh as he adjusted himself under the covers. "Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weed is good for pain. But please, don't get caught.
> 
> Also, just a quickie. Some hints of inexpensive headphones and what-not, but in this universe, it's boyf riends centered. Sorry I don't make the rules. But let me know what y'all think as always!


	3. The Real Jake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Jake really the cool, suave guy that everyone thinks he is? Well, weed-fueled Jake doesn't have to act.

Most people wouldn't think it, but the life of Jake Dillinger was a boring one.

It had been ever since he was a little kid. He'd wake up, go to school, go to archery practice, and come home to an empty house, his mother and father only coming home right before he went to bed. The same thing happened every day, and the monotony of life continued up through high school. His life was still boring even after his house burned down, though it was for a different reason.

Following the events of the play, things came crashing down on Jake in a way that he hadn't thought they would. He thought he would somehow be okay with everything that was going on - thought that he'd somehow get over it once he and Rich were able to work together and take on the world again. He should have known it wouldn't be the case: he and Rich were awkward around each other, which was almost unbearable considering the fact that Jake was living in Rich's older brother's old room, his mother and father were still unreachable, and his legs would never be as strong as they once were thanks to the events of the SQUIP (he'd have to wear forearm crutches for the rest of his life, but he was relying on a wheelchair until they were stronger).

To be honest, things had just gotten worse, and his life was even more boring than it had been before, just just a giant fucking shit-storm of depression and self-loathing.

Luckily, living with a weed-dealer made things somewhat easier.

Rolling himself over to his bed, Jake took a minute to adjust himself before lifting himself from his chair and setting himself down on the bed, taking a somewhat ragged breath once he'd settled himself. Getting used to the chair was hard, but he silently thanked himself for being such a gym rat. And then he cursed himself once he remembered he'd never be able to walk the same again.

Gripping the sheets between clenched hands, Jake bit back the tears that threatened to show themselves, only allowing an aggravated grunt to escape his throat.  _Calm the fuck down, Jake,_ he thought to himself, forcing himself to take slower breaths until he was able to think normally again.  _You've got to be strong. You've got to be the strong one._

He turned his attention to the bedside table, where his pipe and a baggie of weed was laid carelessly. His precious stash, thanks to Rich, and one of his favorite investments sat next to his phone, which remained empty of texts or notifications or anything else someone popular like him was supposed to have. He set the phone back down bitterly, replacing it by the purple-tinted pipe and the little sandwich bag. Taking a breath, he grabbed his legs, lifting them so that they were on the bed, and laid himself back against the pillows. No time was wasted as he opened the bag, pinching off some of the green nuggets and stuffing them into the bowl, nice and tight.

"Now where is my fucking lighter..." Jake muttered to himself, patting up and down himself until he found the object hidden in his left jacket pocket. Giving a quick chuckle, he raised his pipe to his lips, tipping it gently to the side to give the flame better access. As the fire licked over the bowl, Jake inhaled sharply, feeling a burn in his throat as he switched the lighter off and holding the sickeningly sweet smoke in his lungs.

To his credit, Jake wasn't a pot-head - at least, not to the degree Rich was. The times he smoked were few and far between, but when he did, he smoked himself into oblivion, and that was for one very important reason:

He'd take a puff for every reason he was upset. And as of late, Jake had several reasons.

It was somewhere around the fifth hit of his pipe that Jake was beginning to feel the weed numb his mind, but he kept going, taking a sixth.  _My birthday was last month and Mom and Dad didn't even send me a fucking text_ , he thought to himself as he let the smoke drift out from between his lips. It was then that he felt the tears start to slide down his cheeks, but he paid no mind, continuing to list off the reasons he wasn't the cool, stoic popular guy that he was supposed to be.

_Christine still won't talk to me._

_My legs fucking hurt._

_The SQUIP was right... I'm just a fucking coward._

A subtle  _bing_ from his phone was the only thing that made Jake look up from his hands, which were now covered in tears and snot, his pipe thrown against the wall in a fit of rage and broken into several pieces. Clenching his hands as he noticed what he'd done, Jake reached out to the bedstand to grab his phone, letting out a string of sobbed curses as he swiped it onto the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted, scooting over on the bed to lean down and reach, his fingers stopping a few inches short from where his now buzzing phone was. His eyes were too filled with tears to see who was calling, and the thought of who it could be spurred him forward. He stretched himself, reaching closer, ever-so closer, until, almost...

Next thing he knew, Jake was face-first on the floor, a searing pain in his legs as they crashed onto the carpet. A painful, agonizing scream left his throat, and he gave up trying to hold himself back in that moment. He let go: tears falling wildly as he sobs filled the solemn room, desperate hands gripping onto his hair and pulling, knocking over his wheelchair as he tried to pull himself up. He couldn't remember the last time this happened: maybe right after his parents left, back when he still had mobility in his legs, back when his best friend hadn't been anything more than a friend to him, back when the SQUIP hadn't assured him it was his fault his parents were gone.

At first, Jake was sure it was the weed making him hallucinate that Rich wasn't in front of him: Rich should have gone out to get more of his stupid red hair dye. Jake was sure of it, sure enough of it to send a randomly discarded show hurling at the boy's head, a snarl on his lips.

"I can't believe I'm this fucking high," the boy hissed bitterly, wiping fiercely at his eyes.

Rich gave a frown, reaching forward and smoothing Jake's hair back against his head. "Jake, buddy," he said gently. "Hey man, come on, what's wrong?"

"I wanna fuckin' die!" Jake screeched, seriousness on his face until he devolved into a fit of laughter. He grabbed Rich's outstretched hand, seeming to realize his friend was real. "I just... I hate everything, Rich. I want my legs back. I wanna cuddle with you. I-I miss my parents." He took a breath. "I smoked too much."

Nodding slowly, Rich leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Jake's forehead. The sobbing boy froze, surprise on his face as Rich gave a sympathetic smile. "I want my lisp to be gone again," he said softly. "And I could tell. This is the third day in a row you've smoked yourself into a stupor."

Jake blinked. "Third day? I don't smoke that much!"

"Well, you have been," the smaller of the two said. "Listen... I can't talk to you when you're like this. You're super high and I'm only a little less high." He tried to smile. "Let's just... cuddle? For once? Without either of us making excuses? Then we can talk in the morning?"

Jake nodded slowly, not really paying attention, but wanting nothing more than to have Rich's arms wrapped around him. "You'll... have to help me up," he muttered, clenching his fists again.

A smirk graced Rich's face, the burn on his left side scrunching up more than usual at his happiness. "Trust me, I've got that covered." Standing to where he was still he was still crouching down, Rich wrapped Jake's arm around his shoulders, wrapping his free scarred arm around the back of Jake and gently lifting him. Jake tried his best to help, doing his best to steady himself on his bed as the smaller man lifted him up. Before he noticed it, he found himself on his bed, Rich bending down to take off his shoes before he too was on the bed. "Scoot over, Jakey."

Jake complied, struggling to get himself closer to the wall and somehow pulling the covers over his casts. Rich was lying next to him, his arms wrapped around Jake's torso, a comfortable silence falling over them until Jake, in his drugged-out stupor, spoke.

"I broke my pipe."

Rich chuckled. "We can get you another."

"But I wanna sleep now."

"We are sleeping now?"

Jake blinked. "We are?"

"Oh my god- yes, Jakey. Sleep."

Jake let out a chuckle, seemingly forgetting what had just transpired, a stupid grin plastered on his face. He leaned over to Rich, lifted his chin with one hand, and gently placed his lips on the smaller's, breaking the quick peck as he devolved into a fit of laughter.

"G'night, Richy."

Rich said nothing, a stupid fucking grin on his face - high in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got a laptop after three months of not having one hell yeah!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there guys! I plan to update this at least once a week, though I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to be. If you have any suggestions for what I should write for the next/any chapter, comment down below, and I may write it. Tbh I love feedback, and suggestions are always great.
> 
> Also, DO NOT try to smoke a Dorito blunt. This story was written somewhat from personal experience, so as a word of advice... don't do it..


End file.
